Come to the National Cowboy Poetry Gathering

Well, you don't want to miss it do you?
				But then he came up shootin'.
The National Cowboy Poetry Gathering is held
in Elko, Nevada. This year it starts tomorrow				Slim Willy fell and ate some hurt,
(Friday, February 3, 2006 and ends Sunday,
February 5, 2005). At least I think that is				The banker's son was swellin'.
when it starts and ends. Our newspaper didn't
bother to give the dates. Everybody knows				Pock-faced Pete looked at the two dead oafs,
it's on this weekend.				and said,

You can't get to Elko from where you live.				That was some shootin'.
You could go to or call the Chamber at
775-738-7135 if you want to give it a try.				But Charlie and Willy weren't all that fast,
Here is a free number that will get you
information: 800-248-3556.				To prove it, I'm a willin'.

There are lots of things to do at the				The banker's boy spit in the dirt,
National Cowboy Poetry Gathering. They cost
money but my newspaper says that children are				Which formed a little ball.
free at "non-ticketed" daytime events. That
is Idaho talk. I think it means. Children				I'm goin' to shoot again, he said,
don't have to pay for free daytime events.
Duh!				And you are bound to fall.

So what can you do? You gamble, eat, and				So Pete said, Okay, we're comin' in
listen to cowboy music. That way you won't
have to listen to the monotone of cowboy				To let the court decide,
poets reading there stuff about manure,
bobbed wire, and lonesome mesas. (Mesa means				But instead he drew his six-gun,
"table" in Spanish. A flat hunk of ground
that you have to look up to is a mesa as in				The boy fired twice, Pete landed on his side.
"Can ya' see that critter up thar' on the
mesa? I guess you know a critter could be a				The boy blew smoke
horse or a cow.
				From his gun's barrel,
I read some of my poems at such an activity
when I lived in Payson, Arizona. There were				There were two more there to kill.
about a zillion people wondering around the
park, eating grilled bratwurst and washing it				One was Ugly Joe, the other, Angry Bill.
down with cola drinks. I think there might
have been ten listening to me read my poetry.				Bill said, Now you little runt,
My wife was one of them so make that about
nine.				I gettin' mad as hell,

So that you will see why nobody was listening				Not that you shot those ugly bruits,
to me and why few will leave the poker table
in Elko, here is one of my poems I read there				My pockets that will fill,
in the park in Payson, Arizona:
				But I ain't cowin' down.
The Banker's Son
				You're goin' down to hell.
(Monday, March 29, 1999)
				The boy said, You don't learn fast,
He spurred his horse, the banker's son,
				Do you Angry Bill?
His daddy died that day
				He drew and shot,
When the bank was robbed his dad was shot
				Not once, but twice,
And the robbers rode away.
				Bill rolled on down the hill.
Their horses were lightnin' fast,
				Ugly Joe looked at the men
With bottom, they were full.
				All layin' on the ground.
Ugly Jo looked back and said,
				He said, My God! That was some shootin'!
Ride you bunglin' fools.
				You're the fastest gun around.
They spurred their horses all the more,
				Now tell me son, Before I die,
Leavin' the banker's son in the dust,
				How you learned to shoot.
But then they stopped to rest the stock,
				I saw you tellerin' in the bank,
That's when the fun began.
				For gun's you had no roots.
The banker's son rode up and said-
				The boy looked down,
They were drinkin' whiskey then-
				And said these words,
Lay down your guns, you're goin' to hang
				My dad was just like you.
When I get you back to town.
				He went to jail
Fat Charlie laughed,
				And paid the price
A banker's son is goin' to bring us in?
				And he taught me how to shoot.
He drew his colt,
				Ugly Joe kicked a rock and said,
The rich kid shot,
				What were his name, my son?
He did Fat Charlie in.
				The boy said, the Sierra Kid,
Slim Willy said,
				Ugly Joe pulled his gun,
Did you see that?
				And
The kid looks pretty good,
				Died.
But Fat Charlie was slow, Banker Boy,
				The boy left those parts,
I wouldn't try that again.
				Never to be seen again,
You killed my pa, you filthy crew.
				They never found the loot at all,
You shot him and he's dead.
				Just those five dead men.
Slim Willy said, Twas Charlie, Son,
				Well, now you know why I've decided not to go
And then he poured out lead.				to Elko tomorrow. (What? You want to read
				another of my poems? Well, if you like
The banker's kid rolled in the dirt,				punishment, go to my website.

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Come to the National Cowboy Poetry Gathering